Taking a Bullet
by B Rue
Summary: The title kind of states it all. Basically about taking a bullet for a friend. FRIEND. No yaoi. Not that kind of friend. Just a heads up.


**First actual fanfic on here. First story. Don't go easy. Don't hold back. Speak your mind. Love, hate. It's all the same to me.**

Is it so crazy to say that I'd take a bullet for you?

His eyes discretely look to his left, at Mello. He watches his dear friend, watches as he takes a bite of his chocolate bar, first one for the day. A sudden rush of fury comes over him. He slams the window shut, after taking a look out at the early morning sky, still dark and strewn with stars.

Mail Jeevas. Who? No, Matt. Matt. He coughed slightly on his cigarette, taking it from his mouth. He considers taking another drag, but something stops him. The eerie little voice, hardly heard from anymore, whispers in the back of his head: _breathe fresh air today, kid. You'll need it._ It holds sympathy. He wonders why, inquires to the voice––but it is gone. He shakes his head, suddenly aware that he is being watched. Turning slowly, Matt comes to face Mello.

No, he isn't Mello right now. He is Mihael Keehl. Matt's best friend, since they had entered the orphanage. Matt dazes off again, struggling to remember every detail of when Mello had still been happy. Wammy's House. Sounds like a mental institution, Matt chuckles to himself. Probably is. It had us there. Mello comes back into place, rolling his eyes.

"C'mon, man," Mello huffs, taking another bite of his chocolate bar before speaking again. "We gotta get our oh-so-lovely plans into action. That chick is gonna be going today, and we need to get ready."

Matt walks toward his friend slowly, slipping his vest over his striped shirt on the way. It tousles his red-brown hair, but that suits him He sets down his psp and cigarette pack on the table, earning a confused glance from Mello, then walking out the door. Mello follows him slowly.

Matt slides into his red camaro, looking at his gloved hands, then at his combat boots. He sighs, then gives up, pulling his other cigarette pack out of the back pocket of his jeans. He lights one up, then looks out of his window.

Mello slips on his helmet and riding jacket, then hops onto his black motorcycle. They nod at each other.

Matt looks forward again, getting an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He pulls his goggles over his eyes. They start out of the garage.

He gets jumpier and jumpier, finally starting to shake.

Mail Jeevas knew that something was going to go horribly wrong.

Matt shook off the feeling of his old self, his self from the orphanage, his home, Wammy's House, then kept going forward. He knew the plan. Shoot the smoke gun, and then floor it. Get back to the garage, and fast. That was what Mello and him had said in their plans. Easier said than done goes well here. He flicks the fag out of the window, then lights a new one.

Seeing the desired destination in the distance, he slams on the gas, car shooting forward. Just a distraction, Matt says to himself, panicking slightly. Just a distraction.

He shoots.

Smoke veils nearly everything. His bright red car seems sickeningly obvious.

He floors it.

Panic races in his heart, adrenaline pumping throughout his body. He looks in his rearview mirror, cursing under his breathe. He speeds up. Suddenly, he sees the line of black cars, shining under the bright lights. Stars glimmered in the night sky.

Déjà-vu.

That nearly distracts him. He remembers Mello. This is to protect him; Matt's best friend.

He slams on the breaks, his spotless combat boots squeaking slightly, red camaro spinning.

Everything comes to a standstill.

He takes a drag on his cigarette, and thinks… Damn, they were waiting for me.

He gets out, panicking, saying the first thing that came to his mind. He didn't ever do anything wrong. Holding his hands in the air, he listens to the dead silent night. Did everything stop just for him? Matt, Mail Jeevas, thinks, This is for you, Mello.

The last thing he hears is the ringing sound of bullets, shooting through the silence. His body jerks back, hitting his car. He didn't feel anything. He just thought…

It isn't quite that crazy, then, that I'd take a bullet for him.

His cigarette falls from his lifeless body, sizzling and going out from his lifeblood pouring from his chest.

**The phrase that is at the beginning of the story inspired me.**

**Written in honor of Matt / Mail Jeevas, and Roran, my best friend, murdered in 2008. R.I.P., guys.**

**Oh, and these songs provided wonderful inspiration:**

** The Webs We Weave – Escape the Fate.**

** The Day I Left The Womb – Escape the Fate.**

** Holding On – Scary Kids Scaring Kids.**

February 2, 2010.


End file.
